


Avocados At Law

by crowleyshouseplant



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowleyshouseplant/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: -bursts into the ask box- DID SOMEONE ASK FOR FLUFFY DAREDEVIL PROMPTS? because i think a fic about matt and foggy exchanging avocado friendship necklaces would be cute :,)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avocados At Law

“You want to know what I just noticed?” Foggy’s voice is too close. Matt can smell the night he had on the town in his breath–whiskey, the kind that has the eel in the bottom, and the scrambled eggs with too much salt and the lingering after smells of the cigars he’d give to Mahoney for Bess. He probably came to work with a hang over, judging from how cautiously he moved. He hadn’t heard the flick of a light switch either.

Matt closes his eyes, leans heavily on the cheap desk. Sometimes, even though he’s learned to better manage the sensations that barrage him, it’s just so much.

Today is one of those days. He wants to ask Foggy to speak a little more quietly, but he already is. The pinpricks of a headache begin to needle his temple. 

He smiles anyway. “What’s that, Foggy?”

Foggy dumps something on the floor beside the desk. It smells old and dusty, that old library smell, and Matt sneezes. Whatever it is, Foggy brought his research with him. “Our sign. Our very prestigious sign. The sign that we paid a lot of money for?” Foggy’s breath hits him in a warm cloud of morning coffee (two sugars, half and half cream) as he shifts toward Matt. “It doesn’t have any braille on it.”

“You’re right,” Matt says. “It doesn’t.”

“We’ll fix it. It was a gross oversight. I mean–”

Foggy works on burying himself out of the hole he’d dug for himself. His voice is there. Reassuring. Something to listen to, something to anchor himself toward. 

He’s always liked that about Foggy. Suddenly, certainly, he is so glad that Foggy knows his secret. That they were able to build something new once the hurt, the betrayal had been addressed, had been talked about. Of course, they can’t be what they were before–but Matt doesn’t want that (and he hopes that Foggy doesn’t want that too) because they can be something so much more, together. 

He thinks he should tell Karen. He thinks he doesn’t know how.

“So you’re not mad?” Foggy’s voice is upturned, hopeful. 

“No. I’m not mad. I’m just glad we’re not working off napkins anymore.” He doesn’t say that he still has it, folded in half, tucked inside his drawer. That he pulls it out sometimes when he’s alone, traces the black lettering on it because, even though it’s hard, he can differentiate between the textures of the ink and the napkin. It relaxes him. It eases him. It gives him something quiet and gentle to focus on. It reminds him of what he does here, in his tie and this office, and what he does out there, in the horned mask and on the streets.

“So, I know it’s not technically your birthday,” Foggy says. “And I know it’s not technically Christmas. But you know this is a weird world–maybe in another universe it really is your birthday. And there’s probably tons of different universes so I really don’t think this is all that out of the ordinary.”

“I think those were called unbirthdays,” Matt says. “Alice in Wonderland?”

“Or that.” Foggy clears his throat. Matt hears his fingers fidgeting in his pocket. “I found these at a thrift shop. It wasn’t like I was looking for something, but I was just walking by and they were displayed in the window and I swear they called my name, Matt.” A soft rustle as old an old paper bag is opened. “They’re necklaces! And they’re avocados! Two of them. They’re both green–you know, that soft sort of vibrant green that only a really ripe avocado can manage. And one of them has the brown pit inside and the other one is just sort of hollow, where the pit would fit if the avocado were whole. And you know–” he coughs, his pulse quickening a little bit, and for a brief moment, Matt imagines that Foggy might actually be blushing a little bit – “now that we’re officially lawyers and everything, I thought we could celebrate! Mark the occasion with something silly and lighthearted because, haha, I don’t really see a lot of that happening here.”

Matt holds out his hand, and Foggy drops one of the necklaces into his palm. He finds the pit with the tip of his fingers, and smiles. Appropriate, considering his hard head and his stubborn temper. 

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that one,” Foggy says. “Appropriate, you know, because of the hard knocks you take and the hard knocks you give.”

The latch is the kind that Matt hates–the small kind that take him too many times to try and fit. His hands are too big, his hands, his fighter hands, his boxing hands like his dad, not quite deft enough to be adept at the latch. 

“You want help?”

Matt nods and there’s a warm shift as Foggy leans towards him, plucking the necklace once more from his hands. The chain is delicate and heavy at the same time against his skin, and he holds his breath as Foggy fumbles with the latch, succeeding on the third try. 

The bit of avocado hangs in the hollow of his throat. A soft presence, something that will always be there. He holds it for a moment between his thumb and forefinger. “Let me do you,” he says.

Foggy laughs, awkward and high and thready, and says okay. Matt finds the smooth open circle with his thumb before he lets the charm drop, holding the necklace only by its fine chain. Foggy is facing him, can still feel his warm breath, and Matt leans up to catch the latch. 

It takes him a few more tries, and Foggy is a good enough sport not to tease him. But when the latch clasps, he runs his fingers along the fine chain, to make sure it sits on Foggy neatly and nicely. His knuckles trace against Foggy’s skin, until the come to rest once more at the avocado, hanging a little lower from his neck. He pats it once, twice. “Avocados at law,” he says, and Foggy laughs, and says a litany of yeah, I know, aren’t they great, aren’t they just freaking great. 

“I’m glad we’re friends,” Matt says.

Foggy is silent for a moment. “Yeah, me too.” 

They’ll be friends for a long time, Matt thinks. They’ll accomplish a lot of things together, and they’ll fuck a lot of things up too. And he never takes the necklace off, not even when he wears the suit with its devil horns, tucked safe and sound inside. He never hides the little avocado when he wears his button down shirts and tie–it lies there, discretely, on top. 

And every time Foggy sees him wearing it, never really taking it off, he flushes a little bit and wonders about what Matt might be doing that night, and hopes that he will be safe, and that he will see him again, either there before him in the morning as if he’d never left or slipping in late as if the only horrible thing that had ever happened to him was that he had forgotten to set his alarm clock.


End file.
